


Precisely Two

by warmachine



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M, POV Third Person, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmachine/pseuds/warmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nice morning with two sleepy boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precisely Two

An early morning on a hot summer day.

Haphazardly closed curtains let in dim, morning sunlight that cuts across the floor in faint little shafts. It creeps along, getting a bit longer as time passes. It touches things, slowly, starting with the shoes discarded carelessly by the windows: two pairs, shoelaces tangled and loose. It creeps further to touch a small heap of clothes: a red shirt, a white shirt, two pairs of jeans… all a wrinkled, crumpled mess on the floor. It climbs the nightstand where a lampshade rests, tilted awkwardly on an old lamp that isn’t even plugged in. Two pairs of glasses – one a pair of sunglasses, the other a pair of spectacles – rest on the table as well, slammed down in a fit the previous night. A phone sits charging on the surface of the table, a drawer under it partially open to reveal a few choice things. The drawer was rifled through quickly, and left pushed out partway.

And then, there’s the bed. Two bodies lie sprawled out together on a messy bed, the sheets twisted and forgotten. Two heads knocked together on a pathetic pillow that really should be fluffed a bit – a head of messy, black hair that sticks up in all the wrong places, and a head of usually neat, combed back blond hair, mussed and tangled now.

There’s a strong sense of contrast lingering about the room – evidence all over of things being tossed aside in a rush, carelessly; signs of desperate movements, leaving a drawer open and the bed off-center. Now, however, everything is calm, and settled, the air heavy and silent, save for the steady breaths of two.

A boy with messy black hair and a boy with tangled blond hair lie together in the morning, tucked away together under a tangled, thin sheet. They’d fallen asleep holding each other, their foreheads knocked together and their hair getting even more tangled. It was sweet; they were comfortable, and they slept well.

Now, however, that calm and silence was being interrupted. The familiar sound of shifting – sheets being pushed around on a bed, a bit of irregular breaths as someone stretches – breaks that silence, and the boy with black hair sits up, hunching over slightly and rubbing his eyes. He’s forgotten himself – it takes him a few moments of thinking to remember everything he did last night, the events coming back to him slowly. A yawn escapes from him. This black-haired boy glances over at the other next to him; a smile lingers on his lips.

Carefully and slowly he lies back down, pressing a kiss to the blond boy’s forehead. He’s content, and he lies there for a small eternity just watching him, and listening to him breathe. It’s one of those tender moments that’s always thrown into cliché movies; something he’s (unfortunately) very familiar with. He reaches over to that nightstand with the glasses and the open drawer, and he fumbles around until he grabs the spectacles. He carefully puts them on, blinking a few times, and soon he’s smiling again, hugging his still-sleeping friend close.

A ceiling fan rattles quietly, the blades casting dim shadows down on the bed. The boy with black hair is planting more kisses onto his friend: a few on his forehead, down to his nose, a couple on his cheeks, and precisely two on his lips. It’s all very slow and gentle, very practiced.  
The contrast in the air still lingers – things from the previous night slowly creeping back into the boy’s mind, swirling around and creating that contrast with the peace of the morning. He pushes the thoughts away, trying to focus on his sleeping friend. He finds him beautiful: in all honesty he truly does. He’s always loved the sleeping boy’s hair; the way his lips pull upward ever so slightly in a smirk, most of the time; how he’s almost always so indifferent, but how when he’s asleep it seems he finally lets himself relax.

His sleeping friend is a complex person, and he loves it.

The boy with the black hair presses his lips to his friend’s forehead a few more times, carefully and gently. He sits up a bit more and he stretches again, his fingers brushing up against the chain on the ceiling fan. He glances to the windows, those curtains so haphazardly tossed in. Those dim shafts of sunlight aren’t so dim now, and some of the light is cutting across the bed over the boy’s hand. It’s warm, and he smiles, ever so slightly.

He’s content sitting there, so that’s what he does: he sits on that bed, glancing around the room idly. He notes the absolute _wreck_ they’ve both made of it: clothes scattered about, curtains a mess, the sheets on the bed a twisted and tangled knot. He shifts a bit, and he’s reminded of a few choice scratches lining his back.

He sets about straightening the sheets – he’s doing his best not to wake his friend, and so far he’s doing all right. Soon they’re in order, and he tucks them around his sleeping friend, pressing a few more kisses to his lips. Afterward, he slips silently out of the bed, stepping quietly onto the floor. His hands on his hips, he looks at the room a bit more critically now. Then he goes about cleaning all the things – first the curtains: he straightens them out; then the clothes: he gets himself dressed, and folds the rest; next the drawer in the nightstand.

He smiles and nods, satisfied, and steps back over to the bed, sliding back in next to his sleeping friend. He scoots close, enveloping his friend and kissing his cheek gently. He continues that, moving about and kissing his forehead and his nose and his jaw and his neck and then, finally, his lips again. It’s all so gentle and loving, and he can’t help but smile when his sleeping friend stirs.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

The blond boy rolls his eyes and smiles, ever so slightly, and kisses the other boy gently.

“Hey.”

"Want a round two?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

**Author's Note:**

> tl;dr: john topped the shit out of dave so he's being really nice to him in the morning.
> 
> just kidding.
> 
> I'm still trying to get rid of that writer's block. I really want to update my other fic but the only things I can seem to write right now are short little ficlets like these. Sighhh. I actually really love summerstuck or whatever, like, I just love the idea of all the kids sprawled out on Dave's floor or something complaining about the heat to each other. Ah. I've started a fic like that but I haven't finished it yet. Another sighhh.
> 
> ...I kind of ended this in a stupid place, sorry.
> 
> If you wanna come track me down and try to help motivate me or give me ideas or something (or if you just wanna talk to me (friends are great)) my tumblr is cronusdamnpora.
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
